


Lips as Red as the Rose

by agirlnamedtruth



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Purple Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 22:10:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1527494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agirlnamedtruth/pseuds/agirlnamedtruth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night before the wedding, Margaery knocks on Sansa's door hoping to find a little comfort before the dawn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lips as Red as the Rose

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "Lips as Red as the Rose" at [Writerverse](http://writerverse.livejournal.com) and [this prompt](http://asoiafkinkmeme.livejournal.com/22142.html?thread=14293886#t14293886) at [asoiafkinkmeme](http://asoiafkinkmeme.livejournal.com).

Sansa's breath caught in her throat as an insistent knocking came from her door. She took a moment to swallow her fear, deep down she knew she had guards on her door and Shae was not far away. The only people that could be knocking were ones that she had no choice to open her door to.

She pushed away her covers and reached for a gown. She didn't have time to fasten it properly, not without her hand maiden. It'd have to do. She wrapped it around herself and held it tight over her shift. 

She peeked around the edge of the door, swinging it open quickly when she saw her unexpected visitor. "Lady Margaery!”

"Sansa, might I come in?" Margaery asked, pushing back the hood of her cloak. "I know the hour is less than appropriate but I find myself in need of a friend tonight."

"Of course," Sansa said, stepping aside so Margaery could come in. "Should I dress? If I'd known-"

"No, please, it's not necessary," Margaery assured her. "I can't stay long."

"Of course," Sansa said again. "Would you like to sit down?" 

Margaery looked from her small chaise lounge to her vanity table chair and then finally to her rumpled bedding. She chose the bed and to prove it wasn't presumptive, Sansa sat down beside her.

They sat in silence for a while and Sansa took Margaery in, her features shadowed in the dim light. The moonlight filtered through her curtains and caught a sharp redness around her eyes. The same redness coloured her lips, as red as a lover's rose. Margaery looked down and bit her lip, hinting at the cause of her swollen mouth.

"I wanted to you to know," Margaery started, pausing to look up and down again. "You need not attend the ceremony tomorrow. If you don't want to."

Sansa looked down at her hands, unsure what to say. "But, my lady, I must to attend. Tyrion is Joffrey's uncle and I am his wife, I have to be there."

"I can say you're unwell," Margaery suggested, her eyes still on her skirts. Sansa had never seen her look so unsure of herself.

"There is no need, really," Sansa said, reaching for Margaery's hands before she remembered her place.

But Margaery grabbed her hands before she could retract them. "Oh, but there is. Tomorrow will be the darkest of dark days. I could not bear for you to witness it."

Sansa nearly said, _but it's only a wedding_ before she remembered the true extent of the marriage. It would mean Margaery would be forever tied to a monster. She'd have to eat at his table, drink to his health and sleep in his bed. Sansa shivered at the thought. It wasn't too long ago those had been her fears. Margaery had taken her destiny so in hand that Sansa had almost forgotten the horror of it all.

"I'm sorry," Sansa said, turning her hand in Margaery's. "I know how you must be feeling. But surely you'd rather have your friends with you."

"I couldn't wish for anything further from that. The less people I love that have to see this... macabre show, the better," Margaery said, grasping her hands tighter. "I worry about what will happen to you tomorrow."

"To me, my Lady?" Sansa asked, Margaery's fate eating away at her own heart. "It is yourself, surely, you worry about?"

"Myself?" Margaery laughed but it had a harsh, nearly hysterical edge. "I have grown used to such cruelty. My heart is hardened to it. But you sweet thing, I suspect if Joffrey were to die tomorrow, you would still weep for him."

Sansa's mouth fell open in quiet outrage. "I assure you I would not. I would laugh and sing songs of evil men that got their comeuppance and not a moment too soon."

Margaery gave her a smile that said she would like to do the same but couldn't. "You'd be arrested if you did."

"I'd wait until I got back to my chambers, obviously," Sansa promised, making Margaery laugh and pull her into her arms.

"See, my darling, you have lifted my heavy heart already." She pulled back slightly. "You are the sister I grew up longing for, truly."

Sansa wished Arya where still alive, still here behaving like a boy and being frightfully embarrassing. Then she might have said something about wishing her sister was more like Margaery. Instead she said, "I love you the same."

There was a pregnant pause where for a moment, both of them considered the unspoken. But it was unspoken for a reason, Sansa wasn't stupid.

"In the spirit of sisters, might I stay here the night? I fear it will be the last night I know peace," Margaery asked softly, her hands still lingering on Sansa's arms, her touch slipping down to her wrists so she might hold her hands again and implore her.

Sansa knew she should hesitate, feel uneasy sharing her bed with a woman she admired so much and felt so strongly about but she didn't. She knew turning her away would be harder so she nodded and welcomed Margaery into her bed.

Back in Winterfell, it would always be her that crawled into her sister's bed they’d after a fight. She wasn't strong like Arya, she felt loneliness too keenly. It greatly surprised her to find her arms holding another, stroking back hair and pressing kisses to another's forehead. But Margaery clung to her not like a woman who would be queen tomorrow but like the same lonely, broken, scared girl that Sansa was and for the first time, Sansa felt strong.

"Sweet darling?" Margaery whispered into the dark.

"Yes, Margaery?" Sansa whispered back, the titles and formalities forgotten. 

"Promise you will weep for all souls, even the evil ones?" Margaery asked, refusing to look up at her.

Sansa considered it. She would like to say she'd never she'd a tear for evil but there was a quiver of fear in Margaery's voice that needed soothing so she tempered her hatred. "I will weep for every soul that was once good."

Margaery nodded against her, speaking in a voice even weaker. "And when you are in your Godswood, you will be sure to pray for mine?"

"Always." Sansa shivered. She only prayed for the dead now, if she prayed at all. 

Sansa slept while Margaery was denied such an escape. 

Tomorrow this sweet girl might be accused of murder. 

Tomorrow she herself would be a murderer, if not in deed then in word and knowledge and forethought. 

Tomorrow she would be a bride.

Tomorrow she would be a widow.

Tomorrow she would be Queen.

**Author's Note:**

> As of 01/01/18, I'm opting to disable comments. [More information here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13077201).


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